


Satisfactory

by amobisan



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Depersonalization, Dubious Consent, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, although I actually wrote this before I found the Dumpster, and other HYDRA badness, blowjob, they did bad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amobisan/pseuds/amobisan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Post-mission protocol dictates full-body visual inspection to ascertain damage and maintenance requirements."</p>
<p>The Winter Soldier strips in front of Handler Rogers after a battle, and receives a whole new mission.</p>
<p>(Note: No Evil!Steve here! Just Bucky's unique interpretation of events.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfactory

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the Gregorian calendar's upcoming reset, have some dubcon. This was initially far less Bucky's-totally-okay-with-it, but I ended up not quite being able to do that to him or, by extension, Steve. However, if you wanted to imagine a version where the Winter Soldier is dragging Bucky through all of it while he helplessly begs his own body to stop, well, I certainly won't dissuade you.
> 
>  
> 
> If you're concerned about the nature of the dubcon, please check the end notes for spoilers.

Bucky stood in the shadows watching the fight below him, waiting to intercept any fleeing villains as ordered. Even for a fight this sprawling (really, snake-motif supervillain labor unions should _not_ have that many members), playing door guard was still kind of boring, but it was what their Captain wanted him to do. He'd never been any good at wanting to be anywhere but right where Steve asked him to be. And there were solid tactical reasons to do it, too. He was the fastest by foot other than Steve himself, one of the best at hand-to-hand, and it was his first real conflict since joining the Avengers a few months ago, and so he waited and watched over his team all through the fight.

Some fight, too. The rushed call to assemble had left him in his civvies, as his spare BDUs had been commandeered by Dr. Banner above and beyond the doctor's own spare pants for reasons unknown, and they had even forgotten to bring Bucky's favorite rifle. Still, he thought as he tracked the villains' movements, at least he still had _style_ , in or out of his uniform. He'd never understood villains' obsession with themed costuming. Those big, flappy robes were ridiculous-looking and impractical, and the skintight catsuits scarcely less so. He watched as one of the later, complete with ridiculous mechanical tail, raced at Steve and swiped it at him with it and -- and Steve went down, screaming and twitching uncontrollably as the villain dashed past him, right towards Bucky's post.

Oh, hell, no. If this asshole thought he could lay Steve out like that with his sonic-cannon tail -- that was another thing with the themed villains, pointlessly topical weapons -- and get away with it, he'd clearly never fought the Avengers before. Bucky melted out of the shadows behind the building and ripped the mechanical tail right off the bastard as he passed, enjoying his gasp of surprise and panic. He turned, recognizing Bucky as he spun from tossing the tail into a convenient water tank and hearing it short out, and the villain suddenly began to laugh.

"The Avengersssss let their pet monster out of hisss cage for walkiesssss? Oh, that'ssss adorable. And look, here comessss their precious Captain, all better from the sssssting of my tail already, how dissssappointing. At least he ssssuffered very prettily first." Bucky stalked forward as Rattler smiled and waved merrily at Steve, continuing "Viper left me a little presssent from her younger daysss, good Captain. A bit of pillowtalk, if you will. _Veter poyet sladko zimoy, soldat moy_ ," the villain hissed as he once more turned and ran from the battle.

Bucky's vision went white as -- **Recalibrating. Asset designation: Zima Soldat. Status: functional.  Mission: in progress.**

 

The Winter Soldier rose smoothly from its knees, releasing its head. That behaviour had not been within mission parameters. In the asset's moment of distraction, the target had nearly escaped. Unacceptable. The asset's handler would punish such a lapse if detected. The target paused a few blocks away, gesturing back and calling out "I've cleaned your little toy for you, Captain! You may find him somewhat lessss helpful now, I must confessss. Go on, Sssssssssoldat, fulfill your mission."

The asset raced forward. It could ascertain if the handler had seen its failure later. It wondered if it would be wiped again to improve functionality, and felt distantly disturbed by the idea, which was a strong indicator of needing to be wiped. If the asset could fail, could experience emotions and preferences, could wish to avoid an earned punishment, then a wipe was definitely overdue. It should notify its handler during the post-mission inspection and report. Even as it evaluated its internal functionality, the asset lunged forward, metal hand locking around the target's throat and squeezing as the asset bore it to the ground. Target designation Rattler looked shocked at the attack, which was foolish. The Winter Soldier never failed a mission. It was its handler's most effective weapon, _the best friend any fella could ask for, Buck_. The asset twitched at the confusing memory of -- of its handler and not its handler, too small and young. It must need the wipe more urgently than previously estimated.

Then its handler's voice spoke again, outside of its memories, and sounded... worried? "Hey, it's okay, he's not fighting anymore. I think he's losing consciousness. You need to let go, come on, that's it," he cajoled. The asset froze for an instant, confused, before successfully interpreting the order as rescinding termination authorization on this target, presumably in favor of interrogation. The asset found itself hoping -- unacceptable, it must request a wipe immediately before it can become violent and threaten its handler like the last time -- that it would be permitted to perform the interrogation of the target. The target had harmed the asset's handler, and had caused it to briefly fail and earn a punishment. Its hander wasn't administering a punishment yet, though. His hands were on its arms, chest pressed close to its back, pulling it gently away from the target even though the asset was no longer damaging Rattler. The handler's touch felt... pleasant.

"Buck? You okay?" the handler asked, and the asset took an unacceptable thirty-seven seconds, during which its handler's team removed the target and several others to mobile incarceration on several nearby aircraft, to correctly interpret the designation 'Buck' as an alternate address for the asset itself, and the question as an order for confirmation of functional status.

"Yes," it said. It was starting to wonder if its mind could be sped up without the wipes, if there were ways to improve processing other than deleting memories. If it did not notify its handler of the necessity of maintenance... the handler might not realize, might not wipe it again. No, handlers were infallible, that was absurd. The chaos in its mind was growing painful, so it turned to the handler and inquired "Mission complete?"

"Yeah, Bucky, we're done. A couple agents are packing up the evidence downstairs to sift for clues, and the rest are taking the Serpent Society members to prison. I think everyone else is on the quinjet, already. Let's go home," the handler said after a moderate pause. The asset followed its handler into his aircraft while it attempted to parse the location designated 'home.' There was a frost-coated door pressed against its front and a three-story brownstone walk-up overlapping each other when it tried to recall their destination. After a time, it determined more by aeronautical data than memory that they were going to Handler Stark's skyscraper. It was a highly defensible location and suitable for all necessary post-mission activity, so the asset settled into a seat next to its handler and waited as the jet's engines whined.

Once they landed and disembarked, the team disbursed, chattering. It observed Handler Stark using the disassembly rig and Handler Banner waking in fully human form and ill-fitting pants, which confirmed its operating assumption that the mission was entirely settled and post-mission maintenance protocols were applicable. It followed its handler to his quarters, much of which smelled peculiarly like a mix of the handler and the asset itself. When the asset followed him into his bedroom, its handler turned and asked "You sure you're okay? You're acting kinda funny, Bucky. Kinda..." he trailed off.

The asset considered this briefly in silence. It pattern-matched the question and designation to its earlier analysis easily enough, but in a post-mission context it was likely intended to serve as direction to proceed with protocol. It began stripping out of its tactical gear ( _clothes, they're just clothes, sheesh. we got like five minutes to assemble this time. even_ you _can't think darkwash skinny jeans are suitable battle dress_ ) -- what was that. It sounded like the Winter Soldier and yet not. Same tones and sounds, but the vocal patterns and slight accent were incorrect, and it was clearly only happening internally. Probably just a defect that the handler would remove with this wipe, then. It finished removing its gear and stood naked before the handler, waiting for inspection to begin.

"B-Bucky? Why are you, um, getting naked? In my room. With me here," the handler asked, blushing and looking partially away from the asset, which was counterproductive. Little darting glances like those would not provide an accurate assessment of injury, and the statistical likelihood of the asset having acquired a previously-unnoticed pelvic injury was much lower than the frequency with with the handler's gaze returned to that area.

It was trying to interpret this behavior when the other voice said ( _he's embarrassed. he's always been shy. and huh, apparently he's sweet on us right back. I'da never thought he'd look at another fella_ ), which was unenlightening, so the asset merely stated "Post-mission protocol dictates full-body visual inspection to ascertain damage and maintenance requirements." As it spoke, the asset noticed its handler's flush had deepened and that he was erect.

Its handler frowned and said "Did that whatever-it-was Rattler said, um, upset you? Are you still with me, Buck?" The asset noted its handler's distress and for utter lack of any better option consulted the delusion, which appeared to be acquainted with the handler somehow.

The asset repeated its suggested comment, "I'm doin' just fine, Stevie," aloud and observed that many of its handler's distress markers dissipated while those of arousal remained. ( _He really does like us that way, huh. I never thought I had a chance with him. God, he's even more gorgeous when he's excited_ ) the delusion added as the asset determined that its handler required sexual satisfaction. It had been several years since a handler wanted it to fulfill that purpose, but the skills had not been wiped and protocol was extremely clear on the importance of meeting any and all of a handler's needs and expectations. Looking at the asset's body had caused the handler's need, and the asset was therefore clearly expected to relieve it.

The asset dropped immediately to its knees, opening its handler's pants with its flesh hand. The handler had not demonstrated distaste for its metal arm in any accessible memories, but handlers could be idiosyncratic, especially during sexual activity. It was wiser not to risk it, especially with this not being an _explicitly_ authorized interruption to post-mission protocol. Too many signs of disobedience could mandate an immediate emergency wipe and that ( _fucking hurt, oh God the fast ones always hurt so much more, no, no, it's not real, it's Stevie, he won't put us in the chair, he won't_ ) would be an inconvenient interruption to the handler's schedule, likely one that would merit additional punishment. It pulled out the handler's cock, which was aesthetically pleasing and already fully erect. Unlike in any of the memories it could find of being trained for this or performing it previously, the asset found itself ( _ourself_ ) eager to comply, to make its handler ( _our Stevie_ ) happy that way. The voice in its head that sounded both like and unlike its own was getting louder, stronger, but they entirely agreed on the advisability, the _desirability_ , of providing their handler with as much pleasure as possible, so the asset leaned in and gave hi-- its handler's cock a long, slow lick.

The handler ( _God Stevie tastes good, never thought he'd let me do this in a million years, wonder how long..._ ) gasped and staggered back a step until he was braced against the wall behind him. "B-Buck? What are you doing?"

The asset had noted previously that its handler seemed to respond positively to the other voice's comments, and it was getting... stronger. The asset still felt the mission protocols in its ( _our_ ) bones, but the voice didn't seem to be fighting that. It just wanted to speak, it was good at that, and the asset didn't ( _can't, you can't. oh, you're stubborn, but I've gotten out before, and you're hardly even trying this time_ ) try all that hard to suppress it when it said "Taking care of you, Stevie. It's been a while that you've needed this, hasn't it? Needed seen to. By me." It didn't understand why the voice had wanted it to say those things or what they meant, but when it shuffled forward to lick at its handler's cock again, it thought they must have worked because he didn't back away, just braced against the wall and buried a hand in the asset's hair. That was... nice, too. It made the voice swear happily inside the asset's head, and the asset's own cock twitched, growing distractingly harder.

The asset made itself ignore that and focused on its new mission. If its handler decided its functionality would be improved by sexual stimulation, he would provide that during maintenance. The asset found itself wanting that, wondering if it would be like the other times it had been emptied that way or maybe _better_ , but potential future maintenance wasn't mission-relevant. This mission was proving more difficult than expected. It'd never gotten distracted like that when it only had to kill something, never felt a _want_. It leaned forward again to take its handler's cock into its mouth properly this time, sliding a little lower. The handler made a soft, eager sound and rolled his hips forward just a bit, nudging his cock further into the asset's mouth, bumping its throat lightly and making it let out an involuntary ( _oh, that was_ completely _voluntary on my part, your control is just slipping. fuck but his cock is nice_ ) moan at the sensation, starting to bob its head in the rhythm it had been trained to. Its handler made another, louder noise in answer and blurted out "Can I, fuck, Bucky, oh God that feels good, can I, please, can I move? Can you take it?" The asset blinked in confusion as it kept sucking, because of course it would submit to whatever its handler wished to do. He seemed to want a response, though, so the asset moaned affirmatively around its handler's cock, swallowing a little as the head started to push more forcefully down its throat before pulling back, only to push in again.

It was slow and gentle enough that it took the asset several seconds to match the handler's tentative movements with the rough thrusts of prior handlers' use of it, but it eventually realized the behavior constituted 'fucking,' which was good because several previous handlers had verbally indicated its mouth was good for fucking, and that meant that its handler was likely to be pleased. The sounds he was making certainly seemed to indicate pleasure, and he was babbling praise for 'Bucky,' which appeared to be its handler's preferred designation for the asset, and that meant it was performing properly and pleasing the handler. It let out another involuntary moan at the thought ( _that one was all you, buddy, though that does feel really damn good. fuck, we're so hard, why aren't we jerking off already?_ ), but the delusion must be stupid not to know that any maintenance or reward was their handler's to provide, his choice. The ache down there was getting harder to forget, though, so the asset pushed itself to focus more intently, keep its attention completely on providing its handler ( _our gorgeous Stevie, God he looks so sweet like this, mmhm, I think he's getting close_ ) with the best service it could offer so it wouldn't be tempted to try to touch down there, to please itself rather than its handler.

( _Steve_ ) the handler's grip on the asset's hair tightened, and he gasped out "M'close Buck, please, gonna come," and the asset didn't need the voice's commentary ( _oh fuck yes, yes, come on, come for me, want to make you feel so goddamn good Stevie_ ) to interpret that as indication that the asset's mission was rapidly approaching a successful conclusion. The warm glow of forbidden pride that thought gave it made it moan aloud right in tune with the voice's own eagerness. The handler thrust a few more times, a little rougher but nowhere near as much as the asset had taken from prior handlers. Then he was stiffening and spilling right down the asset's throat, shallow enough that it was easy to swallow just as the other handlers had liked. ( _Steve_ ) slumped a little against the wall, panting and looking utterly blissful as he idly ran his fingers through the asset's hair.

The asset knew that they were once more in post-mission status and it should stand, should remind its handler that it had not yet been inspected for maintenance, but staying on its knees, pressed close to the handler's legs, felt so good. The thought of something feeling good, and the accompanying realization that it had allowed a desire -- especially one for personal gratification -- to direct its actions sent an icy spike of panic through its belly. It had made an error during a mission, attempted to avoid an earned punishment, neglected to inform a handler of necessary maintenance, broken protocol, hoped, wanted, felt. The wipe this time would have to be extensive and consequently significantly more painful than average, and the asset was defective enough to shudder at the thought and press harder into its handler's strong legs for comfort.

If its performance had been sufficiently pleasing, it might be able to avoid the punishment it'd earned for freezing during the mission, at least. Maybe if it had been good at the second mission, its handler would perform physical maintenance before the wipe, permit relief of the urge still plaguing the asset between its thighs. ( _No, don't ask him like that, you're going to scare him_ ) the voice said, but this was important. It had to be sure it had been pleasing. It looked up from where it'd dared to rest its head against the handler's thigh and quietly inquired "Was that satisfactory, Handler Rogers? Is maintenance next?"

The handler paled dramatically, jerking his hands back from where they'd been stroking over the asset's shoulders before dropping abruptly to his knees, eyes level with the asset's own. He looked close to tears as he said "Handl -- Oh, oh God, God, Bucky, I'm so sorry, I thought, you were acting a little off but you still sounded like yourself, I swear I thought you wanted--" and its handler's distress was so alarming that the asset had no chance of suppressing the voice, the other self that wanted to speak.

"Hey, hey, no, it's okay, Stevie. I'm still in here too. He only got partially triggered, and he's not very good at keeping hold of the driver's seat. You didn't do anything that I -- that we -- that any part of me didn't want. I promise." The asset stared in horror as its hand, the metal one, lifted itself to pet the handler's hair, don't, you'll earn us a punishment, please don't, you can't touch a handler like that! "I don't think he's gonna be a threat, even with us switching a bit right now. He's scared of you punishing him, just wants to make you happy. He's not going to attack anyone." The very thought of attempting to select its own target, not just _without_ but perhaps actively _contrary_ to its handler's will, made the asset shake a little. "He's a lot less bloodthirsty without me screaming at him to go for the HYDRA bastards' throats with our teeth the whole time."

Its handler seemed to notice the shaking and ran a soothing hand down its side. That felt wonderful, and the asset felt itself turning into the caress without thinking about it, hips shifting up a little on reflex. "If-- if you say so, I believe you, Buck. Um -- _oh_.  You're still, um. May I? Do you want that?"

The asset blinked in confusion and checked with the other personality, the other self. The handler knew it was there and hadn't ordered an immediate wipe, so it must be within the asset's operating parameters, and it had proved useful at alleviating their handler's distress several times. The other self said "Oh God, yes, absolutely," aloud while it explained ( _he wants to, ah, perform full maintenance as a reward. he's pleased with us_ ) and that thought made the asset gasp eagerly, entirely without the other self's input. The asset had been _good_ ; its handler was _pleased_. Maybe it would even be anaesthetized before the wipe this time.

"God, Bucky," its ( _Steve, our Steve, ohhh_ ) murmured, wrapping a hand around the asset's cock as he pressed his lips to its mouth, clumsy but passionate. It was strange, because the asset could recognize the low pressure building in its belly, but there was no probe to shock its prostate, no restraints, no bite plate. There was just its handler's firm grip and steady strokes, and the ( _kissing, it's called kissing, he's finally kissing me, it's even better than I'd hoped_ ).

The asset stayed still, welcoming whatever maintenance its handler had decided it needed, and the other self mostly agreed, kissing back but otherwise submitting properly to their handler's touches. He sped up and the asset started making little noises, and maybe it should have had the bite plate after all, but Handler Rogers didn't seem to mind the noises the way other handlers had and just kept going, even when its hips bucked up eagerly into his touches without the safety of the restraints. The asset could feel it building, getting close, but it didn't say anything, didn't beg or warn. Orgasm would happen, or not happen, whenever its handler decided, and it was the asset's function to obey its handler's will in this, too, just like in everything else. Just as the pleasure began to peak and the asset was almost certain it would be permitted orgasm this time, the other self spoke aloud, saying "God, love you, Stevie," and that made their handler's grip tighten just that extra, little, oh!

The asset shook through it wordlessly as its handler murmured "I love you too, Buck, God, so much." After it was done, he pulled his asset's wavering form in close, kissing again. The other self was sleepy too, though "sleepy" was a strange concept. The asset wasn't entirely sure how it knew what "sleepy" was, or why he -- no, _it_ , assets don't have personhood, don't be defective and there won't have to be punishments -- wanted a nice warm shower, when its physical state was relatively clean and cold water would serve perfectly well in any case. The handler used a discarded shirt to clean them off as he asked "You still with me?"

The other self wanted to speak again, and the asset was too exhausted to make much of an effort to stop it from kissing Ste-- their handler and saying "Kinda? He's gone from 'terrified and confused' to 'tired and confused.' Can probably calm him the rest of the way down tomorrow. M'sleepy, don't wanna have to schlep over to my room. Can I share your bed tonight?" And what was it thinking, using personal pronouns this whole time and now asking to stay with a handler overnight, to sleep in a bed at all? But... but their handler didn't seem angry. He was smiling at them and carrying them and oh, his mattress was so soft.

"'Course, Buck. You're always welcome anywhere I am. Get some rest," he answered, sliding in beside the asset and wrapping his arms around its waist. Even if this was against dozens of protocols, even if the asset didn't deserve to be there, that's where its handler wanted it to be, so that was where i-- where _he_ belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Dubcon explanation: Bucky is partially triggered (via his old programming) and initiates sexual contact with Steve while in a not-quite-consent-capable headspace, and under somewhat false pretenses (he convinces Steve he's fine, even though he really isn't). Everyone involved was attracted to the other party before the sex, wants it, and enjoys it, but those things do not consent make. 
> 
>  
> 
> If I messed up the Russian, please let me know. Google Translate can be a tricksy beast.


End file.
